Force Mage: Voices on the Other Side
by Yusuf
Summary: The war is over, but everyone's dead. Without a reason to live, Harry tries to kill himself... only to literally find himself on the next great adventure. Again he faces Dark Lords, war, romance, and prophecies in a galaxy far, far away... HP/SW Crossover
1. One: Pyrrhic Victories

**Force Mage: Voices on the Other Side**

_One: Pyrrhic Victories_  
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It had not been worth it in the end.

Tom Riddle had been killed by Harry Potter in a final, cataclysmic battle on Azkaban, the two leaving a swath of destruction behind them stretching across all of Britain. The sky had flashed lightning, earthquakes claimed the land, tornadoes swept across the island, and hurricanes buffeted the shores.

Both their wands snapped, Harry slew Riddle with a mixture of magic and swordplay, using Gryffindor's Sword as a magical focus. After his magical maturation, Harry was likely the strongest wizard in existence, several times stronger than even the legendary Merlin.

But, in the end, it still hadn't been worth it.

Harry was nineteen. Most of his friends hadn't lived past Harry's eighteenth birthday.

Ron, Charlie, Arthur, and George were killed in a Death Eater raid on the Burrow on Ginny's birthday after Harry's fifth year. Harry had killed Dolohov there, recently having reached his magical maturation. But, four members of his adopted family and his best friend were dead.

But, none of that mattered. Four were dead. Harry had destroyed most of the surrounding landscape in Ottery St. Catchpole in his grief.

Hagrid and Hedwig, his two first friends, had been slain during Easter of his sixth year by Mulciber and MacNair. Harry killed them, slowly.

But they still weren't alive.

Dumbledore, Fred, Molly, and Bill had been killed during Christmas in Harry's sixth year by Snape, who was a traitor the entire time. Harry mind raped Snape to death, using his prodigious Legilimentic and Occlumentic abilities. Harry felt a certain dark amusement at returning Snape's sins during his fifth year back at him.

But, they were still dead.

Hermione and Ginny had been raped and killed by the Malfoys during New Year's Day in Harry's sixth year. Harry had annihilated Malfoy Manor and tortured the Malfoys to death.

None of that mattered. It had not brought them back. They were dead. He had destroyed Malfoy Manor in a burst of green flame in his grief.

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks and their new son Teddy Lupin had been killed during Easter of Harry's sixth year. Nymphadora had been raped several times by Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange and then raped by an Imperiused Remus. Remus was forced to watch as his child's head was cracked open and his wife raped by the Lestranges and then by him under Imperius. He was made to torture her to death, before he swiftly followed her in a flash of green light.

The body parts were mailed to Harry.

Harry returned the favor and left the Lestranges in pieces, covered in their own blood, piss, and shit. But, it still didn't matter.

The Lupins were dead.

Bellatrix Lestrange had killed the Longbottoms swiftly before torturing Neville to insanity during Christmas of his seventh year. Harry returned the favor. He showed Bellatrix that he did indeed know how to mean a Cruciatus Curse.

But, Neville was dead. Death and torture did not resurrect him.

Luna had been raped and killed by the Crabbe and Goyle families during that same day. Harry reduced their bodies to mist for that.

But, Luna was dead anyway.

Harry had realized that vengeance was ultimately pointless. It solved nothing. All he could do was prevent future deaths. He could not resurrect the dead. Harry became a weapon, cold, efficient, and ruthless. He had precisely one policy for his enemies: he used them and then killed them.

It was then that Harry began to start preventing deaths. He became the bane of the Death Eaters, their greatest fear.

Harry killed Riddle two years later. The prophecy was fulfilled. But, they were all dead. Riddle's death did not bring them back.

It had been a tragedy of pyrrhic victories. Harry might have killed Riddle, but Riddle had killed every reason for Harry to continue living.

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It was the day after Riddle's death. The Ministry was in chaos. For the first time in nearly twenty years, owls filled the sky, people in strange robes walked the streets celebrating, pubs were filled to the brim, and song filled the skies. Nothing had really changed since Voldemort's first defeat.

Harry took part in none of that. He had been slated for an Order of Merlin, First Class, minutes after slaying Riddle. Harry ignored the letter. He didn't give a damn about Fudge's administration and he didn't give a damn about their accolades.

He just wanted to die. So, there he sat in the Department of Mysteries, entranced by the archway. It was covered in ancient, spidery runes. A tattered veil hung, swaying softly. Harry could swear that he heard whispering coming from it.

"The preparations have been made, Harry. I've given the money, stocks, and properties off according to your will," Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody said, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

Harry said nothing, staring at the Veil.

After a pregnant pause, Moody said, "Are you sure you want this, Harry?"

That got his attention. Harry looked up.

He said softly, his eyes shining with smoldering intensity and his voice tinged with steel, "_Of course_ I want this. I have nothing left to live for. Everyone I ever cared about is dead. I can join them now that Riddle is dead. The prophecy is fulfilled. Haven't I earned my peace yet?"

Moody said with a heavy voice, "That you did, kid, that you did. I won't interfere with your decision. It's _your_ choice in the end. If anyone deserves the right to this, Harry, it's you."

Harry said nothing. He stood up and walked towards the Veil.

He turned around and smiled faintly to Moody, "Goodbye, Mad-Eye. See you on the other side, hopefully not too soon."

Without bothering to wait for a reply, Harry walked through the Veil and knew no more.


	2. Two: Unity and Oblivion

**Force Mage: Voices on the Other Side**

_Two: Unity and Oblivion_  
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_Is this what death is like?_

Whatever Harry expected death to be like, he was disappointed. He expected a white light as some who had passed through the penumbra of death had related, or his parents to guide him along towards the next great adventure, or even God himself to judge him and send him to Heaven or Hell. No, this was entirely different.

Harry hadn't expected the journey through the Veil to be so _painful_. It was like every part of him was ripped to shreds, crushed, and then reassembled, and then torn asunder once more and the process continued in an unceasing cycle of shredding, crushing, and reassembling. Harry was helpless, lost in his own pain, his own agony. It was excruciating, more than the Cruciatus, more than when Voldemort had possessed him. It was pain worse than when his friends had died, it was pain worse than when his last links to his parents had died, it was pain worse than all of Harry's experience. _All _was pain.

And then, it came. The _voices_. First, it came as a whispering trickle, sending an electric current of apprehension through Harry. They _called_ to him, they wrapped around him, they _bathed_ him in their voices. He drowned in it. And then, it increased, it became more frenetic; the voices grew louder until they reached ear-shattering intensity. They screamed at him, tore at the fibers of his soul, and tried to tear him apart.

Harry was terrified. This was something no mortal could ever comprehend, something more terrible than all the world. It was something Harry could never understand. A myriad of sensations struck Harry. He felt excruciating pain unlike anything else, white-hot lances of agony piercing his very being and raking across his essence. It pulsated and thrummed, a strange patterned symphony of pain forming. It would happen all of a sudden, and then stop, a gap of _nothingness_ leaving Harry reeling. And then again and again and again. It was the epitome of pain, not merely physical pain, but the sort of pain that tore at the soul, despair, sorrow, grief, hatred, and fear. It was a culmination of all that was dark, all that was wrong with the world, captured into the space of an eternal moment.

The memories flashed by Harry, some of them his own, some he did not recognize. All were of pain. Harry _knew_— he knew the pain of rape, a terror of domination and sadism; he knew the pain of losing a child; he knew _all_ of it, all the pain that could be imagined, all the pain that could exist. It was _all_. The experiences flashed by Harry, moving so quickly that all that was etched into his mind was its intensity and horror. He had no time to focus on any particular image, for another would soon follow. It was a single eternity of pain.

And nothingness once more.

But, the nothingness was soon filled. _Pleasure_, pleasure that would drive men mad, the sort of pleasure that was all at once more wonderful and more terrible than anything. It was a gestalt of electric pleasure, a constant orgasmic high. It held the same matching white-hot intensity, the same infinite extent. It was pure bliss for a single unending instant. He knew joy, the heights of courage and loyalty, the meaning of love. It was the sort of thing you could not tell a person, for it was beyond words, beyond names, beyond all experience. For a single enduring instant, it was pleasure that none knew or ever could comprehend. The experiences followed, some his own and others were not, and once more, he _knew_ all the pleasure that could be imagined, all the pleasure that could exist.

And then the pain came once more. And then pleasure. And then pain once more. It was a maddening cycle of pleasure followed by pain, pain followed by pleasure. The changes came more frequently now, faster, faster still, even more quickly! The pace reached such speed that pleasure blended into pain and pain blended into pleasure. Still its pace increased, a maddening symphony of pain and pleasure reaching a crescendo; and finally—

_Unity_. It was pain and pleasure all in the same eternity, the differences and barriers dissolving into nothingness, a single unity of all experience, of all that could be felt, of everything of the world. And Harry wept. It was an experience that no human could justice with words. It was, in some ethereal sense, _beautiful_, a terrible, necessary beauty.

And in it, Harry felt, strangely enough, tranquility. In that unity, Harry _understood_. Death was not a solution to his pain; it could never be. It would not solve his pain, it could not resolve his suffering. The only way to do that would be to confront it and deal with it. The experience, the unity, _everything_ was a catharsis. He was beyond pain, beyond pleasure, beyond _everything_. It was a unity more than the sum of its parts, a gestalt that could not be understood, that could not be conveyed, something that left you changed at the end of it. He felt _refreshed_, renewed, a baptism of fire that left the precious gem behind. In death came absolution, in death came resolution, in death came redemption.

The voices began to fade away. The screaming faded into talking, which faded into whispering, and became nothing. And then, the unity began to dissolve, the barriers erected once more. Pleasure. Pain. Pain followed by pleasure followed by pain once more. Quickly at first, and then, slower, slower, slower still, until they both faded to _nothing_. Oblivion. Nothingness.

Harry was encompassed once more by it, the sheer nothingness. No joy, no grief, no hate, no despair, just _nothingness_. Harry's grips on consciousness faded. His last thoughts were of the hope that he would finally meet his loved ones.


End file.
